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Don't Say
Goodbye to the Porkpie Hat
Mingus, Bird, Prez, Langston, and
them
By Larry Neal
Don't say goodbye to the Porkpie
Hat
that rolled along on padded
shoulders
that swang bebop phrases
in Minton's jelly roll dreams
Don't say goodbye to hip hats
tilted in the style of a soulful
era;
the Porkpie Hat that Lester dug
swirling in the sound of sax blown
suns
phrase on phrase, repeating bluely
tripping in an under crashing
hi-hat cymbals, a fickle girl
getting sassy on the rhythms.
Musicians heavy with memories
move in and out of this gloom;
the Porkpie Hat reigns supreme
smell of collard greens
and cotton madness
commingled in the nigger elegance
of the style.
The Porkpie Hat sees tonal memories
of salt peanuts and hot house birds
the Porkpie Hat sees . . .
Cross riffing square kingdoms,
riding midnight Scottsboro
trains. We are haunted by the
lynched limbs.
On the road:
It would be some hoodoo town
It would be some cracker place
you might meet redneck lynchers
face to face
but mostly you meet mean horn
blowers
running obscene riffs
Jelly Roll spoke of such places:
the man with the mojo hand
the dyke with the .38
the yaller girls
and the knifings.
Stop-time Buddy and Creole Sydney
wailed in here. Stop time.
chorus repeats, stop and shuffle.
stop and stomp.
listen to the horns, ain't they
mean?
now ain't they mean
in blue
in blue
in blue streaks of mellow wisdom
blue notes
coiling around
the Porkpie Hat
and ghosts of dead musicians
drifting through
here on riffs that smack
of one-leg trumpet players
and daddy glory piano ticklers
who
twisted arpeggios
with diamond-flashed fingers.
There was Jelly Roll Morton, the
sweet mackdaddy,
hollering Waller, and Willie The
Lion Smith
some mean showstoppers.
Ghosts of dead holy rollers
ricocheted in the air funky
with white lightnin' and sweat.
Emerald bitches shot shit in a
kitchen smelling
of funerals and fried chicken.
Each city had a different sound:
there was Mambo, Rhega, Jeanne;
holy the voice of the righteous
sisters.
Shape to shape, horn to horn
the Porkpie Hat resurrected
himself
night to night, from note to note
skimming the horizons, flashing
bluegreenyellow lights
and blowing black stars
and wierd looneymoon changes;
chords coiled about him
and he was flying
fast
zipping
past
sound
into cosmic silences
And yes
and caresses flowed from the voice
in the horn in the blue
of the yellow whiskey room where
bad hustlers with big
coats moved, digging the fly
sister, fingerpopping while
tearing at chicken and waffles.
The Porkpie Hat loomed specter
like, a vision for the world;
shiny, the knob toe shoes,
sporting hip camel coats
and righteous pin stripes
pants pressed razor shape;
and caressing his horn, baby like.
So we pick up our axes and prepare
to blast the white dream;
we pick up our axes
re-create ourselves and the
universe,
sounds splintering the deepest
regions
of spiritual space
crisp and moaning voices
leaping in the horns of
destruction,
blowing death and doom to all who
have no use for the
spirit.
So we cook out of sight
into cascading motions of joy
delight
shooflies the Bird lolligagging
and laughing for days,
and the rhythms way up in there
wailing, sending scarlet rays,
luminescent,
spattering bone and lie.
we go on cool lords
wailing on into star nights,
rocking whole worlds, unfurling
song on song
into long stretches of green
spectral shimmerings,
blasting on, fucking the moon with
the blunt edge
of a lover's tune, out there now,
joy rifting
for days and do
railriding and do
talking some lovely shit and do
to the Blues God who blesses us.
No, don't say goodbye to the
Porkpie Hat
he lives, oh yes.
Lester lives and leaps
Delancy's dilemma is over
Bird lives
Lady lives
Eric stands next to me
while I finger the Afro-horn
Bird lives
Lady lives
Lester leaps in every night
Tad's delight
is mine now
Dinah knows
Richie knows
that Bud is Buddha
that Jelly Roll dug juju
and Lester lives
in Ornett's leapings
the Blues God lives
we live
live
spirit lives
and sound lives
bluebird lives
lives and leaps
dig the mellow voices
dig the Porkpie Hat
dig the spirit in Sun Ra's sound
dig the cosmic Trane
dig be
dig be
dig be
spirit lives in sound
dig be
sound lives in spirit
dig be
yeah!!!
spirit lives
spirit lives
spirit lives
SPIRIT!!!
SWHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETT!!!
take it again
this time from the top
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